No Complaints, No Regrets
by MrsCumberbatch
Summary: Five years of marriage, a baby that never comes, horrid breath, socks index, a little boy named John, no complaints and no regrets. (Belongs to my story "Atonement")


**Author's note: This one shot belongs to my story "Atonement." Not an English speaker. Apologies in advance for my mistakes. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

There is always that sort of strangeness when he opens his eyes and finds the other side of his bed occupied. Maybe it is because he still isn't quite used to the idea of sharing a bed with her. Or maybe, just maybe, he is so pleased with this that he prefers to think he isn't.

Indeed he is happy. It is always nice to have someone to hold in your arms when the night is cold. It is also equally nice to have someone waking you up every morning with a kiss, even when that person has horrid breath when she wakes up. But that person is different because she makes him very happy without even trying.

"Wakey wakey," she says to his ear and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

He tosses and finds her already sitting on their bed, the same one they had been sharing for a bit more than a year. He takes his time to observe her, her golden hair is all a mess and he likes it that way. Even when her hair is short, shoulder-length, he still likes it when it's all wild and a complete mess.

"I'm not a child."

"Of course you're not," she smiles at him and opens the curtains, letting the sun in. "hmm, lovely day isn't it."

She's about to leave their room when he reaches out for her hand and makes her sit next to him on their bed. He kisses her softly and feels her horrid breath but he likes it. The first time they kissed Mary had eaten some trendy food with garlic and it was horrible. The second time, however, she had eaten chocolate. Sherlock found out he liked kissing her.

"Wash your teeth."

"I washed my teeth!"

"Do something about your halitosis."

Mary smiles and brushes his dark mop of curls, now mixed with some white hairs, and stands up. "You do something about your feet. They smell."

"You didn't complain last night."

"Shut up. Come on, have a shower. I'll prepare breakfast. I'm sure John's up already playing those stupid video games. Why on Earth did you let Mycroft get him that thing for Christmas?"

Sherlock shrugs and do as he's told. He doesn't mind leaving his bed and walking to their bathroom naked because that boundary has already been broken. And God, why he has to cover himself when they have been together for a bit more than a year, shared a bed for a bit more than a year and have been doing things adults do for a bit more than a year?

He walks into the living room already dressed, impeccably as always, and finds Mary and John already having breakfast. A cup of black coffee with two sugars is already waiting for him at the head of the table.

When he sits down his adoptive son, who's merely a seven year old boy, asks him if he's working today.

"No."

"Can we go to the park and take Gladstone with us?"

Mary smiles. "Sounds good. We could have a picnic."

"Can we, dad? Please?"

Dad. Sometimes Sherlock wonders when was the first time John called him _dad_. John became John Holmes the very same day Sherlock married Mary. He adopted her child and from all of the sudden he had a wife and a son.

Sherlock had always been present in John's life, since the day he was born. The detective still remembers that day clearly: Mary and her then husband were so happy. Mary had always been told she could never have children but she married and then John came.

John. Mary named her child John after his John.

After John Watson.

Back to little John, Sherlock was his godfather until Mary's husband died in a car accident. She was left alone with bills to pay and no place to live when Sherlock decided to help his friend. He hired men to fix Mrs Hudson's old flat and Mary and her baby moved in with him.

Life changed. Life changed completely and everything was so... different, nice, good. It was nice to have Mary's company. Some time passed and little John started nursery and then school. Sherlock would always pick him up after class when Mary was working at the hospital. Suddenly Sherlock tagged along and went with Mary to parents evenings, school plays, visits to the park, to the doctor's.

One day, three years after Mary's husband had died, Sherlock proposed. The detective had even got a ring and a speech prepared. He said they had to do it so that way, if something happened to her, God forbid but she once said so, there will be no one to look after little John. Mary said they couldn't because they were friends and Sherlock replied John and him were also friends and they got married.

They were confused. Or that is how Mycroft put it. They slept in separate beds but Mary prepared breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner and Sherlock would wash the dishes. He was like a father to her son and they had been mistaken as a couple thousand of times. Sherlock liked taking Mary out for dinner and they had even held hands once.

Mary finally accepted. They agreed they were friends who were getting married so Sherlock could adopt John. They were friends who would only be married legally speaking and nothing else. The deal was to get a divorce a year later, when they were allowed to do so.

A months after they got married Sherlock took Mary out for dinner. They ate, drank wine moderately, talked about her job at the hospital, Sherlock's latest cases and John's new achievements when walking back home Sherlock held her hand, their laced their fingers and once in Baker Street they made love for the first time.

They married approximately fourteen months ago and neither of them has asked for the divorce yet, as they said they would.

Mary often tells him she loves him.

Sherlock doesn't lie when he says he loves her.

* * *

"Negative?"

Mary manages a tiny smile, one of those smiles Sherlock knows very well. It is one of those smiles you think the person is happy but actually they are very sad inside.

That's how they feel inside. Very sad.

"Maybe we should keep trying," he suggests and kisses her neck whilst looking at the pregnancy test she's holding. "Let's keep trying."

"You think?"

"Hmm."

Mary turns and buries her face into his chest. "What if it never comes, Sherlock? What if I never give you a baby?"

"It'll come. You know, 'Sherlock's a girl's name," She laughs between tears.

"We're not naming our baby 'Sherlock', love," Mary snorts and throws the pregnancy test to the bin. "All that sex for nothing."

Sherlock looks at her slightly hurt. "You didn't complain."

They are married for two years now and they have been trying for a baby for more than six months. Both went to the doctor and both were told they were fertile and that there shouldn't be problems.

They have been trying for six months without results.

Mary thinks they have to give up.

Sherlock thinks they should keep trying.

Very deep inside Sherlock feels a deep pain, right inside his heart. He knows he is feeling that same thing John, his deceased husband, felt many years ago when he wanted a child but he couldn't because he had fertility problems. When John suggested Sherlock could give his sperm, Sherlock said no and said it in a way meant to break John's heart.

Now several years later he wants to have his own child and he can't.

He tells Mary about this one morning when they pop into a shop. Mary's best friend is pregnant and having a baby soon. They go round and round one of those stores Sherlock has never been so fond of looking at different types of clothes for babies and so on. Mary can't choose between a knitted little blue jumper and a green one.

Sherlock doesn't cry when he tells Mary about this, about breaking John's heart. Mary, on the other hand, looks away and wipes a little tear off her face.

She smiles and says it won't be too long before she gets as big as a planet and they will have to return to the same shop but not to buy a present for her friend's baby but for their own child.

* * *

They have been married for three years when they had a big fight. The very first big fight since they are together.

It is say, or expected, to have rows, arguments with the one you love. We all know life is not pink.

Sherlock doesn't return to Baker Street for a whole week when Mary drives to where she thinks is the _last_ place Sherlock could be. She puts her own life in danger and gets into an old building where everyone knows junkies go to get high.

Mary nearly dies when she finds Sherlock all spread over an old mattress, high as a kite, dirty and with a growing beard that makes him look like an idiot.

She's a doctor and she knows when someone's high. She won't need Sherlock pissing on a jar.

Sherlock spends a whole week locked in Mycroft's house until he realises what he did not only to Mary but to their son John.

When he returns home John, completely unaware of what had happened to the man he loves and calls 'dad', tells him he had missed him lots.

"Are you done playing the drug addict?"

"It was for a case."

Mary snorts. "Really? You went back to... to _that_ for a case?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't think of your son?"

Sherlock doesn't answer.

"You didn't think of me?"

"I'm sorry."

"I bought another pregnancy test a few days ago," Mary says, looking down at their matching wedding rings and asks herself what went wrong between the two of them. "It was negative. _Thank God_."

He frowns. "What do you mean by that?"

"That thank God I'm _not_ expecting a child now that its father likes to spend time with junkies and be one of them even!" she bellows. "I love you! Don't you understand that?"

"I love you too," he takes her hand. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't for a case, was it?"

"No."

She cries in his arms after Sherlock made love to her like he'd never done before in another futile attempt to conceive a child both know will never come. "What went wrong, Sherlock?"

The detective kisses her and looks into her eyes. "I suppose I have a repellent against the people who love me."

She laughs.

Everything else is forgotten.

"I missed you," she purrs against his ear when he kisses her neck passionately.

"We should keep trying."

"If you think you can manage another round," Mary smiles. "You old man."

He gives her a tiny smile. "I'm not old."

"Just ten years older than me, not old, yes."

"Never heard you complaining."

* * *

Four years after getting married, they accept the child they long for will never come.

Instead, they focus only on John. Sherlock sometimes takes the ten year old boy to the Yard and to his cases. Most people think crime scenes and the Scotland Yard are not places for a kid to go every now and then but John shows interest in finding clues and catching criminals.

Uncle Mycroft, however, spends his whole day locked inside his office drinking tea, whisky sometimes and going through papers all day long. What is funny about uncle Mycroft's job is that where he works there is a trolley full of cakes and chocolates. It is also equally good to have a PA who does whatever you want her to do for you.

And little John likes that more than solving crimes.

"I wanna be like uncle Mycroft when I grow up," John says one afternoon whilst doing his homework. "What does he do?"

"He's a politician," Mary replies. "Don't you wanna be like your dad?"

John shrugs. "Dad's job is cool... but I like uncle Mycroft's best."

"Thank God your dad's not here to listen to you."

"I told dad."

Mary frowns. "What did he say?"

"He just said I have to be what makes me happy."

"Oh."

"Mum?"

"Yes?"

John looks at his homework. "You think dad's angry?"

"Why would he be angry?"

"Because I don't wanna be like him."

Mary caress her son's golden hair. "Your dad's not angry. Actually, he's very proud of you."

Neither of them realise Sherlock is listening behind the door. No one will ever know Sherlock allows himself to cry because he is very proud of the son Mary gave to him and he will always be. The little baby he wish he would have is no longer a problem or something that keeps him awake most of the night.

"You messed my socks index," Sherlock says one morning, staring at his drawer. "_Again_."

Mary snorts and continues dressing herself. "I love you too."

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me!"

"Oh, your period."

She rolls her eyes, takes her purse and goes to work.

It doesn't take the detective much time until he finds out.

He likes to remember what was it like when he was married to John but that happened so many years ago, several years actually, and he had deleted so much it is hard to remember. Sherlock can only tell what happened between the two of them through the letters John left. Those letters taught Sherlock life goes on, even when the love of your life dies and you are left alone in the world.

It took him some years to realise he could find love again. Several years after John's death he comes to terms with his own feelings and married Mary. He adopted her son and he got the family John had always wanted them to have.

When it's late, when he looks at Mary's naked body next to his Sherlock thinks of how life changes, how life is nothing you once thought it was like and how he got the life John was destined to have. Because maybe, if Sherlock had set him free instead of killing him, John would have left him, married Mary and had a son together. Mary loved John. And Sherlock spent several nights thinking whether they had been lovers or not. Mary said they weren't. And Sherlock believed her.

He wakes up before her. Sherlock watches Mary stirring, yawning, opening her blue eyes and looking at the ceiling for several minutes until she tosses to face him.

"You awake?"

"Yes."

"It's Sunday, isn't it?"

"Yes," Sherlock presses a kiss to her shoulder and wraps his long arms around her figure. "All day long."

She fights him when he tries to kiss her. "My teeth."

"I like your horrid breath."

Mary laughs softly. "Look at the room, the mess we've made."

"I thought you liked make up sex."

"I like it when I don't have to clean the aftermath the following morning."

Sherlock chuckles. Their clothes are all over the floor and there's a strong smell of sex in their room. Mary's high heels are in the corner of their room, Sherlock's shirt over a chair, her bra is hanging on the drawers.

"I deduce you wish to neither get up nor clean the room," Sherlock whispers to her ear.

"Hmm."

Sherlock climbs on top of her and kisses her lips. "I deduce you want me to stay."

She nods.

And someone knocks at their door. "Dad, can I take Gladstone for a walk? He needs to pee!"

Mary smiles. "Come on, sweetheart. Time to get up and be parents."

"Let's go on holidays."

"Where?"

He shrugs. "Don't know. Somewhere we could have sex without having to clean the room and prepare breakfast?"

"Actually, we never had a honeymoon."

"You didn't complain."

* * *

They have been together for five years when Sherlock asks for a divorce.

They spend a whole night talking, talking about what went wrong, what they want, how they are supposed to handle this and how they will tell their son.

In his arms, Mary remembers their honeymoon, the one they had four years after getting married. They went to a small island, visited the beaches, ate strange food and had lots of sex. Sherlock got a sun tan and everyone said he looked funny.

"Is it something I did?"

"No."

"Something I didn't do then?"

"No."

Mary leans close to him and kisses him. "Then why do you want me out of your life?"

"I don't want you out of my life. I'll always love you and our son," Sherlock pulls at her T-shirt and kisses her. "We're not meant to be together. You gave me a family and the best years of my life," he confesses. "But I'm not a good husband."

"You're a good husband."

Sherlock smiles. "You deserve best."

"I'll never find someone better then you," she says between tears. "I... I love you, Sherlock."

They make love one last time and before Mary closes her eyes Sherlock holds her hand. "I love you too, Mary."

The following day Mary starts looking for a nice little flat and some time later she moves out Baker Street with her son. Both explain the child they are divorcing but it doesn't mean they don't love him. Sherlock promises to visit, go to school plays, go to the park with him every Sunday morning and be there every time he needed him.

Little John cries and is sad. They take their dog Gladstone too and even the dog seems to be as sad as its owner.

Sherlock visits frequently. He goes to Mary's place and has dinner with her and their son and sometimes they go to Baker Street.

"I miss your awful coffee," Mary says, holding a glass of wine. "Your cold feet, your stupid thing for shirts. Are you still keeping that socks index?"

"Of course. You used to make such a mess with my clothes." Sherlock smiles.

"And the sex. We had great sex."

"As much as I love making my brother feel uncomfortable, I don't think he wants to listen to you talking about our sex life."

Mycroft clears his throat. "Certainly not."

"I miss you ranting about the long queue in the shops," Sherlock chuckles softly. "And your horrid breath in the morning."

Once Mycroft leaves and John is already sleeping, Mary and Sherlock drink tea and laugh remembering their moments together. She reminds him of the time Sherlock almost burned Mary's favourite towel and she made him get ten more towels afterwards.

"How was the date?"

Mary rolls her eyes. "Awful. He spent the whole night talking about his stupid job and how many bank accounts he has."

"You're not seeing him again?"

"Of course not. He was a dick. What about you?"

Sherlock smiles. "I'm moving to the country."

"I thought you loved London."

"I never complained."

**The end.**


End file.
